Fallout: Fremont
by joshthegreat
Summary: The Commonwealth is now under the protection of the Minutemen, following the destruction of the Brotherhood, and a peace treaty between the Minutemen, Institute, and the Railroad. But, as the new nation grows, so does it's needs. Scouts are sent in all directions, finding new factions and civilizations. One such place is the bustling trading town of Fremont, miles to the north.


Mayor? Are you there? Milo, come in." The radio crackled, stirring the man. He opened his eyes with a groan, the cracked and peeling ceiling coming into view. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, eliciting another groan from him. Morning sunlight shone through the windows, the rays of light illuminating the dust floating through the room.

Milo Reynolds swung his legs over the side of the 200 year old bed, and rested his bare feet on the wooden floor. He stood up and stretched, then walked over to the desk where the radio sat. A glance around the room showed that it was just the way he left it the previous night. His bed was against the south wall, the west wall was dominated by a workbench covered several hunting rifles in various states of disassembly, and the north wall housed the desk. The room itself was oddly shaped, with the east wall curving outwards, which resulted in the north wall being half the length of the south wall.

"Milo, I know you can hear me." The voice grumbled through the phone, slight annoyance evident in the speaker's tone. Milo considered ignoring the man for a few minutes to annoy him, but figured he would send a few guards to wake his ass up.

"I'm here, James." He spoke into the microphone. James was the head guard of Fremont, and took his job very seriously. Whatever gave him reason to wake Milo up had to be good.

"Finally." The old man grumbled. While he was in his late fifties, James was still tough as nails, and a crack shot with his hunting revolver.

"What did you call for?" Milo asked, sitting down to put on his boots, having slept in his pants.

"One of our scout teams spotted a group of some kind of armed men coming up the highway towards town." James explained. "About 30 strong, all armed with what looked like laser rifles."

"Raiders?" Milo questioned, a little worry in his voice.

"We're not sure. They all wore the same style get up, according to the scouts. Farm hand outfits with colonial style hats."

"Hmmm…" Milo thought for a few moments. On one hand, they could be attacked by these newcomers the second the town was in range. On the other, they could be peaceful, and might open up new trade routes through the Commonwealth.

"Alright, James. Gather two squads of guards and take up defensive positions behind the gate. Have the other squads man the watchtowers. When and if the group arrives at town, I will attempt to speak to them. I want everyone to hold fire until fired upon. Understood?" Milo ordered as he began buttoning up his shirt.

"Yes, Mayor." James replied. "Captain James, out."

Milo stood up and dusted his baseball cap off, slipping it onto his head. He looked at himself in the mirror. He had a lean frame, and stood five foot eleven inches. His face was round, and his skin had a golden tan from months working in the gardens. He had four inch long black hair, and stubble along his chin. His brown eyes were soft, but at the same time piercing. He wore tattered jeans, a grey plaid button up shirt, and an ancient Red Soxs baseball cap.

Milo slipped his 10mm auto pistol into it's holster, and headed out the door. He entered into a hallway, which ended in a flight of stairs. As he walked down, he began to hear the town clerks shuffling paper around. He slipped through the offices undetected, as all four clerks had their noses buried in paperwork.

Milo quickly reached the front door, and opened it. He squinted in the bright sunlight, and stepped out onto the porch. He looked around. Dead trees and sparse vegetation surrounded the town hall, and beyond them laid the town of Fremont. Or rather, what was left of it. While the town had been spared the brunt of the Great war that had scorched the earth, time had taken it's toll. After 200 years, building were crumbling and being grown over by the few hardy plants that could grow in this environment.

But, as Milo could see while walking down the cracked street, rebuilding was in progress. Old buildings were being torn down when they became unsafe, and replaced with new(ish) shacks made out of scrap metal and wood. Few people were visible. Most were either working guard duty or laboring in the gardens. Up ahead, the gates loomed. They were the only way in and out of town. At 30 feet tall and made of welded metal, and protected by a Guard tower on the south side of the gates, they could withstand anything up to a behemoth rampage.

Milo reached the gate, and climbed the guard tower ladder. He tried to ignore the way it creaked under him. Upon reaching the top, he was greeted with the sight of a balding man with steely grey eyes.

"Mayor." James greeted curtly, offering a pair of binoculars. Milo nodded a thanks, and took them. He looked through them, down the highway that stretched to the south.

He could easily see the large group of people heading straight for the town. Like the scout had reported, they all wore the same style clothes, except for two figures that walked a few meters ahead of the others. One seemed to wear a colonial duster, and the other had a bright blue jumpsuit.

"James, at the rate they are approaching , they'll be here in less than five minutes." Milo said, lowering the binoculars and turning to the man. "Get everyone in position, and wait for my order to open the gate."

"You know you'll be sitting in a killzone, right?" James asked rhetorically. Milo looked him in the eye

"I know. That's why I'm doing it and not you, or anyone else."

/

Milo could now hear the voices of the group on the other side of the gate. Behind him, fourteen guards stood with their weapons lowered, but ready. Milo nodded at James, who hit the circuit breaker that controlled the gate. With a groan, it swung open slowly, revealing the men and women of the newcomers. Milo drew in a breath and stepped forward, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture.

"Welcome to Fremont, travelers. Might I ask your intentions?" He asked, hiding his nervousness. The blue suited figure, whom he could now see was a woman, stepped forward. She had a petite frame, and stood half a head shorter than him. Her skin was fair, and her hair was jet black, kept in a tomboyish short style. Her eyes were bright green, and seemed to bore into him.

"We are exploring new trade routes, and we need a place to rest and restock as well." She stated in a smooth, melodic voice.

"Of course." Milo smiled, slightly more at ease. "I will have to ask you to holster your weapons while in town. I am Mayor Milo Reynolds. And you are, madam?"

"I am General Janet Baxter. And we are the Minutemen."


End file.
